


all this to say...

by certifiablemess



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Absolute fluff, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blue Eyes, F/M, Fluff, T rating for cursing and sexual references, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, You Have Been Warned, cersei stans don’t interact i accidentally forgot to include her in this narrative, that’s it that’s the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23394547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certifiablemess/pseuds/certifiablemess
Summary: Jaime knows. Jaime has always known. He is a hopeless, romantic fool, after all.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 35
Kudos: 136





	all this to say...

**Author's Note:**

> this is all quiche's fault (and i love her for it)  
> dedicated to the 🎺🎺🎺 gc
> 
> this was meant to be like... a 1000 word max. one-shot but only one half of that is true. i just love backstory too much especially when it comes to these two suckers. and who doesn't love reading jaime lannister's internal monologue about how much he loves brienne tarth?? 
> 
> the very apt title is taken from the song that inspired this ficlet-turned-fic: Mika's devastatingly bittersweet love song, Blue.
> 
> bonus points to anyone who spots any/all references to the books (which i have not read) or the show (which i bingewatched all eight seasons of in 5 days)
> 
> i hope your heart flutters and warms while reading this, just as much as mine did while writing.
> 
> hmu on twitter @serjaimelannstr

Jaime knows. Jaime has always known. He is a hopeless, romantic fool, after all.

It's a rare occasion that he's able to leave the office early, but his driver is ready and waiting in the lobby for him as instructed. He quickly pats his pockets, checks his briefcase, makes sure he has everything he needs, and signals for his driver to go. As the city begins to pass him by, Jaime pulls out his phone, lingering on his lockscreen – a photo of him and Brienne against the railing of the ferry from their last trip to Tarth. The bright azure of the waters, the sky, her carefree smile mid-laugh as he stands on his tiptoes beside her, grinning; all of it blooms a warmth deep within his chest.

***

From the moment he met Brienne, he was mesmerised. Not by the way she towered over him, or her crooked nose that had clearly seen better days, or the varying pigments in the freckles that danced across every inch of her body (which he has become very well-acquainted with in recent years); or, perhaps, it was all of these little details that made him desperate for more, to know her more. But what reeled him in – hook, line, and sinker – were her eyes.

Beautiful sapphires, as bright as the clear summer sky when she laughs, as deep and dark as the heart of the sea when anyone dares challenge her abilities.

Of course, Jaime had been on the receiving end of the latter stare right from the beginning. After Lannister & Associates absorbed the Stark Tully Law Group, they had become colleagues and equals, both the senior-most attorneys in their respective firms. Being part of the gaining company, Jaime thought to assert his unspoken position as her superior and, in truth, he meant to provoke Brienne but only to see if she was as formidable as those who had faced her in court claimed her to be. She was. She still is.

***

He smiles now, just thinking about it, where they started. How far they've come.

***

The first six months of the takeover were excruciating; neither of them could stand to be in the same room as each other. In-house meetings became heated debates, the minutes of which rarely contained useful information besides veiled insults that weren't all that veiled. He took cheap shots at the East coast – where he knew she was from because, really, _Tarth_ , that's an original last name – and she suggested that affluence leads to unwarranted arrogance and robbed valuable opportunities from those who had twice the talent but half the support of spoon-fed schoolboys. But, as long as they were kept apart, it was business as usual.

And then they were put on a case together. They had been called into a private meeting with Tywin Lannister himself, sentenced to collaborate on the division of assets for the feuding Greyjoy family. Jaime's objections were futile against his father's imperious command and Brienne, to her credit, was smart enough not to bite the hand that fed her. As soon as they left the Lannister patriarch's office, she had turned to Jaime, rigid and overly professional, and she ordered a truce between them.

"You need trust to have a truce," Jaime sneered. "I didn't know you were so fond of me, Tarth."

Her jaw locked tighter and she stood taller, looking down at him. "I may not like you, but I trust your abilities as an attorney. Now, are you going to work with me on this or not?"

It took a full quarter before the Greyjoy case was settled in a civilised manner. Amidst the long days and even longer nights holed up in the office, alone but together, something shifted. It started simple enough. Small talk and japes at the dysfunctional Greyjoy dynamics somehow led to Jaime divulging his own family turmoils; how he is the sole heir to Lannister & Associates because his father disowned his brother, despite Tyrion being the one with the brain for executive management. How he is estranged from his twin sister because she hated him for taking all of their father's attention, as if he had any choice in the matter. How his mother died and his father never warmed to anyone, not even his own children, after her passing.

When they read Euron Greyjoy's statements of claim for the full Greyjoy fortune, demanding all of his late brother's assets from his niece and nephew, Jaime told Brienne about how he betrayed his family by accepting a position at Targaryen Partners, but he was promptly brought back into the Lannister fold when Tywin forced Aerys Targaryen into financial ruin. The rival firm was reduced to yet another one of Lannister & Associates' many associates.

***

Now that he thinks about it, a lot of that case was just Jaime talking about himself and Brienne being patient enough to listen. Ever since, the storms that raged in her eyes whenever he spoke had softened into gentle waves.

He checks his watch at the sound of blaring car horns outside. As they pass by Tarly's Tavern on the corner of Cobbler's Square, he realises he's ahead of schedule and much closer to home than he thought.

When they bought the apartment, Brienne had been conscious of the proximity to nightlife. Having grown up in the city, Jaime didn't mind the mild noise pollution. He had made sure they were on a higher level to reduce the city sounds, but he knew that wasn't all that gave Brienne pause.

***

The first weekend following the Greyjoy case, a few people at the office had organised a group outing after work. He usually wouldn't go – being a Lannister at such an event often meant that he got stuck with the bill – but his closest friend at the firm, Addam Marbrand, had mentioned that Renly Baratheon would be there. At that point, Jaime still wasn't too familiar with Brienne, but he had seen her interact with the other lawyers enough to know that where Renly went, Brienne would go too. Their entire relationship – working or otherwise – left Jaime quite confused. She would go pink at the mere sight of the man, much to Jaime's confused chagrin. In any case, he accepted Addam's offer to relax and mingle with their co-workers and if he was observing Brienne's confusing relationship with Renly all the while from across the room, well, that was none of anyone's business. It only got more interesting when Renly's apparent boyfriend arrived, a blonde curly-haired man who was shorter than Brienne – not a hard feat to accomplish considering even Jaime himself was shorter than her. Just barely. He had never seen her face turn so red so quickly. He watched her excuse herself and, like a beacon in the night, she waded her way across the room towards the bar, towards him.

She ordered another round of drinks before he spoke up, casually asking, "You got company?"

Brienne looked at him, eyes wide and _so_ blue. "What?"

"Renly's... friend," Jaime said mildly, nodding at the two men she left behind.

She frowned, staring down at her hands. He remembers wishing that she would look at him again.

"Boyfriend, actually," Brienne muttered and, much to Jaime's bewilderment, she actually sounded disappointed.

And then it dawned on him.

"You didn't know."

She blushed a clear yes.

"Gods, Tarth, are you serious?" Jaime barked out a laugh, he couldn't help it. "You're the best damn attorney I know, and you couldn't figure _Renly_ out?"

The fury on her face – her flaming red cheeks and a glare so cold her irises may well have been ice boring into him – made his amused grin disappear as quickly as it came. Before he could utter a word she held up a hand in front of his face.

"Save it." She snapped. She grabbed their drinks and stormed off, back to Renly and his boyfriend, leaving Jaime gaping and grasping for words that never came.

He ordered another drink and, with a final glance in Brienne's direction, he went to join Addam at his booth, where he sat with attorney-turned-consultant Bronn Blackwater, and Podrick Payne, the firm's latest addition. Jaime tried to pay attention to the table conversation, but his eyes wandered over to her at every given moment. She looked happy, or at least tried to. Even from a distance, her eyes gave her away.

He was ready to look away – for good this time, he promised – but a roar of her name snapped his attention right back. The source was a burly redheaded man with an unkempt beard to match, approaching her with far too much purpose. The most negative emotion Jaime had ever seen Brienne harbour was anger but this – her skin paler than it was already, her eyes shut tight locking away those precious sapphires – this was something else.

Jaime excused himself, and slowly waded his way through the crowd towards her table, just as she had towards him at the bar.

"You've got a type then," the man snickered with a nod at Renly and his boyfriend. He cast a glance at Brienne and added, in the loudest stage whisper Jaime had ever heard, "she's not much to look at but I'm sure she's man enough for you fellas."

"What do you want, Ron?" Brienne snapped, her eyes steeled. Her voice was so low that Jaime, still a few seats away, strained to hear her.

The man– Ron sneered. "I just wanted to remind you of what you're missing. But it seems you're doing a fine job of it on your own. Face it, Beauty, you'll never be loved."

Jaime had heard enough. He shoved his way past the remaining few patrons between him and Brienne, and the poor excuse of a man before her. "Is everything alright here?" He demanded, stepping in front of her.

She barely jerked her head at him and muttered, "We're fine."

"And who are you?" Ron asked, slimy, and disinterested, and looking like he needed a good smack in the face.

"I might ask you the same thing," Jaime spat back.

"Brienne and I go way back." The man smirked and, Gods, Jaime had never wanted to punch anyone more. "Tell him, Beauty."

"Leave it alone, Jaime," Brienne murmured, so quietly that only he could hear.

"I will _not_." He growled and met her eyes. He hoped his plain green stare told her all she needed to know, the way the oceans in hers did for him. Jaime turned back to Ron, scrutinising the weasel's every feature. "You should leave."

"You could have anyone you want, pretty boy, and you pick her? This prude who thinks she has any choice in who to fu—"

He heard the crack before he felt it but, _boy_ , did he feel it. Jaime groaned and shook out his hand, his knuckles burning and wrist cramping from angling the punch all wrong. He didn't fully register the commotion around him – Ron rolling on the floor groaning through his bloodied nose, folks around them laughing at the easy takedown, he didn't even realise that Addam and Bronn had rushed to his side. All he saw was Brienne's eyes trained on him and his reddening hand, her stare no less cold than it was when he had teased her at the bar.

"He had it coming," Jaime offered weakly.

She stormed out, left Renly calling after her, ready to follow her out the door before Jaime stopped him to go do so himself. He followed her down the seemingly never-ending street, calling her name as he tried to match the wide strides of her long legs.

"Brienne," he huffed, unsure if it was from the fast pace or if he was just exasperated. "Brienne– Gods, will you just talk to me?"

She stopped in her tracks, so quickly that he almost crashed headfirst into her as she turned to face him. Her glare had not calmed, the fury darkened her eyes to a degree that Jaime had almost forgotten existed.

"I do not need _you_ , of all people, to save me." She said through gritted teeth. Her fists were clenched at her sides, her knuckles as white as his were red.

"You think I don't know that?" He winced.

"Then why did you do it?!"

"Because!" Jaime shrugged. A deep crease settled on the bridge of Brienne's nose as she watched him silently mouth at words that continued to escape him. "He had no right to speak to you like that."

She scoffed and turned away and he wished, not for the last time, that she would just look at him. "That's rich coming from you."

Jaime stiffened, dropping his cradled wrist. "What the _hells_ is that supposed to mean?"

"How was the way he spoke to me any different to the way you've been speaking to me since the day we met?" The venom in her voice coursed through his body, the ice in her eyes made his blood run cold. "I get it, I'm an easy target. Ugly. Ungainly. Mock away! But you don't get to pretend that you're any different than him."

"I _am_ different. There are no men like me." Jaime all but growled.

"Oh, I'm so sorry that I wounded your pride," she sneered and – call it a trick of the light – but to this day he swears something flashed in her eyes as he took a step closer to her.

"You might be used to men treating you like shit, Brienne, but I am nothing like that asshole and you don't deserve to be treated that way."

Brienne stood frozen in her place as she scanned Jaime head-to-toe, over and over again; he sighed, powerless under her gaze. That's how they found themselves in front of Tarly's Tavern, and all Jaime could do, with a wary glance back at the establishment, was ask, "Drink?"

To his surprise, she nodded. It was curt and short but, still, it was a yes. They sat at the bar, their knees grazed as they settled into their seats but if Brienne noticed, Jaime didn't catch her reaction. He nodded in thanks at the bartender who dropped a bag of ice in front of him, ordered a drink, and nursed his swelling hand.

"You should see a doctor," Brienne muttered.

"And _you_ ," Jaime grunted, flexing his wrist, "should tell me what the fuck that guy's problem was back there."

The warm lighting washed dimly across the bar, but she looked as vibrant as ever. It was a mystery to Jaime how, in this light, her thick lips, worried between her big teeth, tinged as bright a pink as the colour in her cheeks; how, in this light, he could see her thoughts in the swirling cerulean pools of her eyes.

He couldn't be sure how long they sat there, staring at one another, at an impasse.

Until Brienne ordered her own drink, downed it in one gulp, and – much like Jaime had spilled his guts about his sordid family history – she told him about Ron Connington, Hyle Hunt, and their stupid bet in university over who could take advantage of her first. She knew better than to trust Ron when he suddenly began flirting with her after months of verbal degradation over her looks, but Hyle took a different approach. He threw her shy glances and smiles for weeks before he finally asked her on a date. He was the first boy to show interest in her, the first boy she ever kissed, and he was almost her first sexual partner. Almost.

They were at a house party, tipsy verging on drunk, but she was lucid enough to remember everything. Making out with Hyle, shedding their clothes between kisses, and the loud slamming of the bedroom door as Ron and a group of raucous boys stormed in, hooting and shaking with laughter, camcorder at the ready to capture what they thought was her shame. The real shame, however, was that she didn't do more than just break Ron's nose that night. Since then, she didn't trust alcohol or men very easily.

"Yet here you are. Having a drink with me." Jaime smirked and earned himself a roll of her eyes.

"I can leave."

"No, don't." He wrapped his good hand around her wrist as she reached for her purse. He searched her blue eyes for the meaning of yet another imperceptible flicker, and added, in no more than a whisper, "Stay."

And, by some miracle, she did.

They talked long into the night, about work, about her father in Tarth, about their equally non-existent love lives – which Brienne didn't believe because, as she so eloquently put it, "have you looked in a mirror?" – and, of course, they talked about Renly. She wasn't blind, Jaime realised, she knew he was gay. But somehow that made it better, easier, because then she couldn't get hurt. Until she did; it didn't matter how hard she tried to hide it. Jaime never wanted to see the ocean flood her eyes again.

It was sunrise when they finally parted ways. By the time they left the tavern, the train services had stopped running and Brienne's only way to get home was by taxi.

"I can walk you home," Jaime suggested. He relished in the bloom in her cheeks.

"I– I live halfway across the city," Brienne stammered.

It wasn't a no.

He shrugged and sauntered around her. "I'm strong enough to handle a little stroll."

Jaime hoped his lazy grin told Brienne all she needed to know; he _wanted_ to walk her home.

And then she nodded, murmured a quiet, "okay".

So he did.

Her apartment was in a low-rise building, that was in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint and better security measures for that part of town. Lingering at the foot of the stairs, Brienne fiddled with her keys and, if Jaime knew any better, he would have looked away. But the sunrise... what unflattering features she had were all softened by its glow. Her straw-blonde hair gleamed like gold, rivalling his own locks. Her freckles blended with the rays of the sun, as if her skin– as if _she_ were the sun itself, radiant and warm. And, _Gods_ , _her eyes_. If she looked up at him, Jaime knew he would never see anything more beautiful than that shimmering blue in the light of day.

And he was right. She looked up at him, their eyes locked, and... and... _Gods_ , he was right. He knew he was staring, gaping like a fish out of water, searching for words – _any_ words at all – to fill the heavy silence before he had to let her go. But, as he learned many times that night, Brienne had a tendency to leave him speechless.

"Goodbye, Jaime." She said with the faintest of smiles. She spoke softly, quietly, and yet his name on her lips was the loudest and clearest sound he had ever heard.

"Goodbye, Brienne." He smiled back in kind and watched her get halfway up the stairs before he turned to walk away himself and let the image of her, kissed by the morning sun, imprint in his mind.

"Jaime?"

He spun to face her, so quickly that he almost lost his footing on the flat pavement. She was biting her lip, swelling and reddening the already plump flesh that shone in the sunlight.

"Thank you. For..." She started, blinked, and nodded. "Thank you."

***

The car stops outside their building. He takes a deep breath and looks out the window, up at the approximate level of their apartment. He thanks his driver and steps out of the car, briefcase and keys in hand. He pats his pockets again, little specks of lint clinging to the clamminess on his palm. He has everything he needs.

***

After that night, Jaime saw Brienne everywhere. Literally. Though sometimes, not so literally. He saw her in the greeting cards by the check-out line because, out of everyone at the office, she received the most thank you messages from clients. He saw her on his morning runs as he passed by workout groups in the park, reminded of the self-defence classes that she mentioned she taught on weekends. Jaime had to reign in his imagination embarrassingly often after that conversation. 

Back at the office, he constantly ran into her in the break room where she offered him donuts that she had saved from the complimentary morning spread. She told him she wanted to ensure everyone had a fair share and, somehow, he knew it was the truth. Every room he entered, she seemed to be leaving, or vice versa. And, for some reason, they always ended up sat next to each other in meetings as of late; the twinkle in Addam's eye told Jaime that he had something to do with it.

He knew she worked hard, and he knew she stayed late almost as much as he did himself. Most nights, they were the last two people in the office so she treated him to take out – as if it wasn't his family name on her paycheck – which he gratefully accepted, but only if he could drive her home and make sure she got to her apartment safely. To his surprise, and great relief, she didn't object. And despite the abhorrent cases they worked, together or apart, she approached each client with compassion and patience that Jaime had rarely seen in this field. Before Brienne, he would have said lawyers like her were manipulators, thinking more of their reputation and recommendations after each case than the case itself; but she was different. He had always known that she was different.

After closing a particularly gruelling case – dubbed by the media as 'The Red Wedding' – she knocked on his office door to apologise, explained that she would be leaving work early that day, needing a break. In that instant, he grabbed his car keys, ready to drive her home. She refused but then he threatened to drag her to his car himself if she didn't stop with her unnecessary apologies, and she knew he wouldn't let her walk out of there alone.

He pulled up outside her building, the tension from the case having eased, replaced by something else. They spoke more coming off of a 12-hour day as the city slept than they did during the entire car ride that afternoon.

"I could've taken a taxi," Brienne murmured.

Jaime smirked. "You think I'd let you take a taxi after all these months of riding luxury?"

She frowned and turned to stare out the window. It was her favourite thing to do, it seemed; to avoid looking at him.

He sighed and dropped back against his headrest. He hoped she felt his stare on her. "You shouldn't be alone right now."

"I don't need you to—"

"To protect you, I know." He took a quiet breath in, eyes closed tight. "I know you don't need me, Brienne."

"That's not what I– you don't– " Brienne huffed and straightened her back, rigid against the passenger seat. She turned to stare out the windshield. "I've had a long day."

Jaime nodded. "I know."

"And I just closed a rough case."

"I know."

"But I don't need anyone to take care of me," she ground out, her jaw as tensed as the furrow between her brows.

"I know."

"I don't think you do." She said. Snapped. Scolded. Hells, she could have yelled at him and Jaime wouldn't have realised because finally – _finally_ – her eyes met his.

Blue flames burned in her glare, a look he realised early on that she reserved for him. It didn't matter how frustrated she got with clients, or even his father at work; this fiery glare was designed specifically for Jaime, when he made crude jokes or challenged her legal decisions. Only he made her feel this way, and this look was for him. Only for him.

He chuckled, and he would've laughed even harder at the way her eyes widened and her glare for him intensified, but he knew better. 

"Believe me, Brienne. You are the most self-sufficient person I know. You don't need anyone to protect you, or take care of you, or drive you home." His smile faded as he shook his head, swallowing the lump that formed in his throat. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't have someone who does."

She blinked. Her brow was still knitted together, but out of confusion rather than frustration, or anger, or disdain for Jaime being, well, _Jaime_. She just stared at him, her lips chewed as red as her cheeks, as if it were all she could do. He took a small pride in being the one that rendered her speechless for once.

"Is that what you're doing for me?" She finally asked.

It was his turn to blink now. His mouth opened and closed, unable to find the right words yet again. He bit his lower lip, slowly released it, and looked down at the console between them; he understood, then, why she could never meet his gaze. But he was a moth, and she was the brightest flame of all.

"Brienne..." He looked up at her – just as he always wanted her to do for him – and answered, his voice steady and sure, "I would do anything you asked of me."

All Jaime knew in that moment was that, however stunning her eyes were from a socially acceptable distance, they were infinitely as mesmerising up-close, especially when they glinted with that something he had never been able to name. He hadn't realised how close he had leaned towards her, or her towards him, and the cursed console was the only thing between them, keeping his leg from pressing against hers where her skirt had ridden up the slightest bit, and he hadn't meant to flicker his eyes down to her plumped pink lips, they just _did_ on their own accord and—

And she kissed him.

_Brienne kissed him_.

Brienne, who avoided his stare at all costs. Brienne, who flushed at his casual innuendoes and suggestive remarks. Brienne, whom he had no idea he felt these feelings for but... _of course he did._ Of course he knew. He had always known. Brienne Tarth was different.

And when he kissed her back, savouring the softness of her lips, her tongue, against his own, he knew he was a hopeless, romantic fool for her. Only for her.

***

_Has it always taken this long?_ Jaime wonders, foot tapping as he watches the floor numbers slowly rollover on the display panel above the elevator doors. He checks his watch every few seconds but, go figure, it does nothing to speed up the ride. The perils of living on the 23rd floor, he supposes. But, thankfully, he's earlier than anticipated; he would most definitely be home before her.

***

Jaime loved waking up next to Brienne. He loved that her long, muscled legs stretched on for miles, and he loved them most when they tangled with his under the sheets. He loved tracing her multitude of freckles like connect-the-dots, drawing constellations on her skin and following them down every inch of her toned body. He loved her little snuffles as she stirred from sleep. He loved the way her voice changed for different conversations; on the phone, in the boardroom, at the coffee house, in the bedroom. He loved that she put her all into every case she worked, and he loved late nights at the office with her just _that_ much more.

He loved getting to know her intimately, in every sense of the word. 

It had only been a month since Brienne opened his eyes, but it was the best month of his life. They had agreed that if, after a month, they still felt the same way about each other, then they would report their relationship to Human Resources. It certainly didn't hurt that, the week before their appointment, they had both accidentally – and so casually – said "I love you" while doing laundry, of all things. 

But it wasn't Human Resources that they were concerned about; it was Tywin Lannister. Word travelled fast around the firm and Jaime braced himself for a scolding. But, much to both his and Brienne's surprise, his father had little to no objections.

"You could have chosen someone with more desirable physical assets," Tywin had said. Jaime shuddered at the thought of his father assessing Brienne that way. "But she is intelligent. She knows her limits. And her skills are second only to yours. I suppose you could have done worse."

And that was as close to approval as anyone outside the family was ever going to get from Tywin Lannister.

Three months into their relationship, Brienne moved in with Jaime. His apartment, where she spent most of her days and nights, was much closer to the office than hers. Two birds, one stone.

And then, the following month, Tywin died. Before they knew it – before he was _ready_ – Jaime had ascended to his position as President of Lannister & Associates. He was inundated with lengthy contracts, and nonsensical statistics, and he attended more monotonous meetings in a week than there were days in a month.

But Brienne was there for all of it. Every miserably long day, every borderline-illegal loose end that Tywin left in his wake, every overwhelming decision; she talked him through it all. And, because of her, he gave his first order with unwavering certainty: he would be stepping down and handing executive function over to his younger brother, effective immediately. To this day, Tyrion continues to prove that he is a much better leader of the firm than Tywin Lannister ever was.

As they celebrated burdens lifted, Jaime had almost blurted it out; those four words that composed a life-changing question. But she deserved better. She deserved more than a half-decent proposal as he was coming off the most stressful weeks of his life, as he lingered in a strange state of obligatory grief.

On their six-month anniversary, they signed the deed to their new apartment where they have been happily living for the past year and a half.

It wasn't that Jaime forgot about proposing; he just wanted everything to be perfect. Whenever he decided on a date to get down on one knee, something always came up.

The first time, it was going to be her birthday. But her close friend, Margaery Tyrell (who happened to be Renly's new sister-in-law), called and asked if they could throw Brienne a surprise party at their apartment and, really, how was he supposed to compete with that?

The next date he set was a random day, in a random week, of a random month; surely nothing could get in the way of such an entropic design. But, alas, that was the day Brienne decided to start a non-profit with Margaery, a social worker by profession, to provide legal aid to victims of domestic and sexual abuse. He knew how passionate she was for the cause, having closed cases with Lannister & Associates in that same vein and coming home more heated and infuriated than he had ever seen her. Starting her own non-profit obviously meant that she would be leaving his firm and – given that it would take a lot of time, blood, sweat, and tears to get the organisation going – Jaime knew that he could wait.

They've spent the past year of their lives developing and launching Evenstar Justice and he couldn't be more proud of her. Jaime had told her one day that he wouldn't mind being her trophy husband which made her laugh loudly, uninhibited, and she said she couldn't wait to give him that title.

So today, on their two-year anniversary, Jaime is finally going to propose. Nothing is going to stop him this time. Jaime Lannister is going to propose to Brienne Tarth.

***

He opens the door to their apartment and freezes. From the kitchen, he catches the sound of running water, the low rumbling of a working stove, and the clanging of cookware that is so distinctly _Brienne_. He checks his watch again, brow furrowed.

"Jaime?"

He looks up and she's there, leaning out into the hallway. A faint blush starts spreading up her neck, her bright eyes widening at the sight of him.

"Hey, you," he says, his voice pitching higher than usual. He drops his briefcase on the bureau by the door with a thunk and hopes she doesn't notice him smooth a hand over his pocket.

"What are you doing home so early?" She asks, pushing up the sleeves of her pale blue sweater. It's his favourite sweater on her because it matches her eyes so exquisitely.

She rests a hand on her hip, the other stretching across the doorway to bar him from the kitchen.

He smiles, trailing a hand up her exposed forearm that rests at her side, freckled and strong under his touch. "I could ask you the same thing. It's barely 4:30, shouldn't you still be at Evenstar?"

"I run my own organisation, I can leave any time I want." She smirks and, Gods, Jaime loves it when she takes pride in herself, even if it is in jest.

He chuckles. "So do I, but I still have to stay until the end of office hours."

"Your brother runs the firm, not you."

"Potato, potahto," he says with a shrug. He doesn't miss the way her eyelids flutter when his hand leaves her arm. Folding up the sleeves of his dress shirt, he nods at the kitchen behind her and asks, with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "what are you doing in there?"

Her arm instantly drops from the wall, crossing her chest, and she stands up straight. She splutters trying to find her words – and he has a feeling his growing grin doesn't help – before she sighs and runs her hands up and down her thighs.

"I was going to surprise you," Brienne admits, biting on her lower lip, the shade of which matches the growing colour in her cheeks.

Jaime's lips twitch, settling into a small frown. "For what?" He asks, tilting his head ever so slightly.

She blinks at him and, even after all this time, a thrill runs through him when he renders her speechless.

With a lazy grin, he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her body against his and kisses her, softly, delicately, as if she would disappear with his touch, nothing more than a figment of his desperate imagination.

"Happy anniversary," he sighs, holding her tightly in his arms. He leans his forehead against hers, their noses grazing. "I love you."

"I love you, too." She smiles, her thick fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

The faint scent of the sea tickles at his nose and Jaime sniffs, looking over her shoulder. "What are you making?"

She unwraps herself from his embrace and squeezes his hand in hers, tugging him into the kitchen.

"It's a Tarth family recipe," she says, stirring the seafood bisque that simmers atop the gaslit stove.

"We should go back soon," he hums. "It's been too long." He presses a kiss to her cheek where the pink blooms the brightest, and steps back to let her work.

The glint in her eyes as she smiles tells him all he needs to know.

Jaime leans back against the counter across from Brienne and watches her. Just... watches. Her brow furrowing in concentration as she sprinkles in a pinch of salt, her lips pursing at the ladle for a taste, the gentle blue waves in her gaze – just like the waters of Tarth – as she lifts the ladle to him so he can taste it too.

It doesn't matter how many times he looks at her, he will never be able to resist her eyes. He never wants to wake up without her; her hair gleaming a graceful gold, nowhere near as obnoxious a blonde as his own. Her freckled skin, luminous in the pale morning light. And when she opens her eyes, those deep blue pools that shine as bright as the sun itself, that give away her every thought, that take his breath away no matter how many times he sees her... he doesn't want to imagine a day where he wakes up and her shining sapphires aren't the first things he sees. He doesn't want to imagine a life without her.

"Marry me."

Brienne doesn't freeze. It doesn't count as freezing if she had already stopped moving before he said a word. Instead, her cheeks flourish into the softest glow, an astonishing complement to the enchanting blue of her eyes.

Jaime's eyes never leave hers, as he takes the ladle from her stilled grip and sets it somewhere on the counter. His eyes never leave hers, as he steps closer and wraps both her hands in his. His eyes never leave hers, as he reaches into his pocket for the little velvet box that he's had hidden in his safe at the office for the last year and a half. And, as he places it at the heart of their joined hands, his eyes never leave hers, and he hears himself softly repeating, asking, proposing:

"Marry me."

She doesn't say a word. For a moment, he worries that she's reconsidering. Reconsidering their relationship. Reconsidering _him_.

But in her eyes, he finds his answer and he _knows_.

Because Brienne knows too. Brienne has always known.

**Author's Note:**

> other songs that i listened to while writing this fic:  
> \- Marry Me by Train  
> \- More Than I Can Say by Leo Sayer  
> \- Songbird by Eva Cassidy  
> \- All Dressed In White by King Princess
> 
> this is basically my magnum opus in terms of writing but (SHAMELESS PLUG) if you want to check out my magnum opus in terms of video editing, click here: https://youtu.be/OJXg9zBrSGI  
> 
> 
> as always, kudos and comments are much appreciated!
> 
> catch me on twitter if you're so inclined @serjaimelannstr
> 
> i hope yall are staying safe and healthy, and that this fic eases the stress of lockdowns/quarantines/isolations wherever you are in the world.


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